Thrice 8 1 2011

One heart fickle, nervous filled hopeful, loving
Daring not to love too much, but knowing it does more than it bears to say
Another heart remembering, a warm, well tended care, slumbering so sweetly, tickled so briefly, softly stretching, waiting to be awakened, wanting to be more than just remembered, something so timidly declared love
Another heart worried, nervously weighing the faults it knows to be showing, knowing it’s connection falters under harsh light. Questions as to what light need be cast. Ingredients hiding that should be playfully arising, the lack of rise frustrating, the worried weight of a goodbye and the feeling it’s undeserved. Icky fears just on the verge, but not quite at attention.
These are mine. This is mine. My life. My woe, my love stretched thrice. I wonder if it would be better twice. I wonder if I should entangle at all. This delicate dance could surely fall. Yet that slumbering love is everlasting, no matter the form it’s cast in. So perhaps the risk is worth it. The tender lovely fledgling of affection, though timidly declared is real and beautiful. Perhaps it all is well. I know at least that I am happy. At least, I usually am.


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